


The World You Left Behind

by zuuramaru



Category: South Park
Genre: Depression, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, excessive use of the word dude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 06:23:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6273265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuuramaru/pseuds/zuuramaru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan Marsh's life has slowed to a halt ever since the death of his best friend, Kyle Broflovski. Weighed down by untold feelings, a stolen future, and a crippling reality, Stan isn't quite ready to move on just yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The World You Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

> i apologize in advance for the feels trip lmao

Stan had been staring at his ceiling for so long, the thought of moving his eyes seemed foreign to him. In fact, the thought of moving his entire _body_ seemed foreign to him.

  
How long had he been lying in his bed again…?

  
Stan parted his slightly chapped lips and tentatively twitched his fingers. One hand was resting on his stomach, rhythmically rising and falling with his soft breathing, and the other was splayed out on the empty space next to him. His bare feet were buried under the numerous wrinkled blankets that had been pushed to the end of his bed many nights ago.

  
An untouched plate of food sat at his bedside table, hoping that maybe, just this once, Stan would make an exception and devour its contents, but it only continued to sit and lose its warmth. The curtains in his room were drawn, and the only source of light was his dimly-lit lamp that sat drearily next to the plate of untouched food.

  
How many days had it been now?

  
Stan hadn’t been at school since it happened; he barely even had enough energy to leave his room. Ever since it had happened, all he did anymore was stare at his ceiling all day, alone with his own thoughts, wishing that things could be different. He wished he could go back in time with the knowledge he had now and prevent this tragedy from ever happening.

  
He wished he could go back in time and save his best friend, Kyle Broflovski.

  
Stan had been unusually anxious that day. He had arrived at the bus stop to find Kyle absent from his usual spot, but simply shrugged it off; he was probably sick or something, maybe just running late. However nonchalantly Stan had tried to play it off, he couldn’t help pulling out his phone and texting Kyle, _“hey dude, you comin to school today?”_

  
Even now, Stan was hoping that somehow, he would get a reply back. He had spent the first few days after it had happened wishing with all of his heart that all of this was just one big joke, and Kyle would come bursting into his room and shout, “Surprise! Man, we sure fooled you, huh, Stan?” And Cartman would saunter in and laugh that obnoxious little laugh of his and probably call Stan an emo pussy, and Kenny would pat him encouragingly on the back, and the rest of his peers would pile into his room and laugh along with each other, and everything would be good, and everything would be _fine._

  
But Stan had abandoned that dream a long time ago.

  
Instead, all he got was a sorrowful announcement from Principal Victoria.

  
Instead, all he got was a tearful confirmation from Kyle’s parents.

  
Instead, all he got was a wake-up call to how cruel this world really was.

  
Stan had missed the funeral. His mother had urged him to go, but he had only rolled over on his side and turned his back to her. He couldn’t bear being in the same room with all of those mourning people, couldn't bear staring at that casket, knowing that his best friend was inside. He wouldn't be able to keep himself together when it was lowered into the ground, reliving all of the memories they shared together as dirt continuously filled the hole, sealing their separation forever.

Instead of attending the funeral, Stan had drank the entire bottle of whiskey that he kept hidden in his dresser, but the only thing that had managed to accomplish was make him a drunken, sobbing mess.

  
Slowly, Stan lifted his arm and gently picked up his cell phone that sunken into the pillow next to his head. He always had his phone on vibrate, but ever since he had last texted Kyle, he kept the sound on. He had even changed his default notification sound to the most obnoxious one he could find, the Cheesy Poofs theme song, so that if he ever got a text, he’d know right away.

  
He never gave up hope that one day, he would unlock his phone to see Kyle’s name at the top next to “new messages.”

  
Stan pressed the home button on his phone, and the screen lit up. He squinted at the sudden bright light, able to make out a notification for three new messages: one from Butters, one from Kenny, and one from Clyde.

  
He slid his thumb across the screen, unlocking the phone, and opened his messaging app. He absentmindedly tapped on each new message, one by one.

  
_Heya, Stan! How’ve you been holding up? Everyone is really worried about you! You haven’t been at school all week! Why, even Eric said something about it today. I know you’re really, really upset about Kyle, but… well, things will get better. We’re all here for you._  
_By the way, Eric has been doing better! Why, just yesterday, he ate two whole French fries! I know it’s not much, but at least it’s progress, right?_  
_Anyway, I hope you’ve been feeling better, Stan. See you soon!_

 

_hey dude. you know you can’t just sit in your room forever. shit happens sometimes, but you can’t let it beat you. kyle wouldn’t want you to be like this. he was my friend, too._

 

_Hey, uh, Stan, I know it’s probably not the best time to ask, but I think I left my mittens at your house last time we all were over. Can I come over and look for them?_

  
Nothing Stan was interested in replying to.

  
The cell phone slipped from his grasp, and landed with a thud face-down onto his chest. He didn’t know what to do anymore, didn’t know how to move forward.

  
He was angry at Kyle. He was angry at himself.

  
He was angry because Kyle hadn’t told him what was going to happen to him, so Stan could have at least told him goodbye.

  
He was angry because he had went through so much to get Kyle that kidney transplant when they were eight, and he still ended up dying years later.

  
He was angry because he had never asked Kyle if those moments when his hand brushed his own while they were stargazing up on the roof were intentional or not.

  
He was angry because he had never told Kyle that he had feelings for him, so much deeper than the realm of “best friends.”

  
Around a year ago, Stan had begun to question how platonic his feelings for Kyle were. He had begun to take notice of the little things: the shape of Kyle’s sharp nose, Kyle’s laugh that never failed to put a smile on his face, and the little flutter in his chest when Kyle would grab his hand and pull him forward because he was walking too slow. Even when Kyle slept over, he would wait until his company had fallen asleep, and then slide down off of his pillow and press the side of his face gently to Kyle’s chest; listening to his friend’s heartbeat always put him at ease, enough to where he could close his eyes and drift off into sleep. It wasn’t until he thought to himself, _“Dude, this is kind of gay,”_ that everything suddenly clicked. The first time he had walked hand-in-hand with Wendy and imagined Kyle in her place, he had gotten so nauseated that he had to rush to the bathroom with his hands clasped over his mouth. After that, he had felt so bad about dating Wendy yet having feelings for Kyle that he just stopped talking to her; it was probably one of the reasons why she had called him an “insensitive shitbag” when she broke up with him for a second time about a month ago.

 

And then Kyle happened.

  
Stan had wanted to tell Kyle for so long, and now he couldn’t.

  
He had always scolded himself for chickening out. Over and over again, three simple words burned in his mind: just tell him. But no matter how many times he failed to confess, no matter how many times he called himself a pussy in his head, he could never manage to spit it out.

  
And now Kyle had snatched away the opportunity forever, along with everything that ever made Stan feel whole inside.

  
Stan sluggishly raised his hand off of his stomach and began rubbing his eye. He had stopped crying long ago; it was as if he had used up all of the tears his tear ducts were able to produce and was now devoid of being able to cry altogether. He couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever gain that ability again, if everything would ever feel right again.

  
His fist lingered on his eye for a few moments before plopping back down on his stomach. He thought about Kenny’s message. _“shit happens, but you can’t let it beat you.”_ What, did that mean no one else felt as empty as he did? Was he supposed to just _move on?_ If moving on meant forgetting about Kyle, forgetting all of the plans they had for the future and all the broken promises, then he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

  
Kenny had also said that Kyle wouldn’t want him to be acting like this… he wouldn’t have wanted him to be reduced to staring at his ceiling all day in the dark. With a sudden surge of anger, Stan rolled over on his side and glared at his wall, his phone sliding off of his chest and landing on his cushioned mattress. Kenny couldn’t speak for Kyle. What the fuck did he know, anyway? He didn’t know what Kyle wanted! How dare he even _act_ like he knew what Kyle wanted!

  
Stan’s eyes burned slightly with the sudden clenching of his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten a good night’s rest; he had been mostly drifting in and out of consciousness rather than sleeping. Plagued by reoccurring nightmares of seeing Kyle’s dead, mangled body lying in the street, of reaching out to Kyle just as the car collided into him, Stan had no desire to sleep anyway.

  
…Yet, as if his body were betraying him, Stan couldn’t stop his muscles from relaxing and his eyelids from drooping. Reluctantly, he shut his eyes and began steadying his breathing. If he thought hard enough, maybe he could convince his brain that Kyle was lying next to him instead of being buried underground. If he extended his arm, maybe his touch would be met with Kyle’s orange, fleecy jacket.

  
He inched closer to the space Kyle occupied in his mind. Maybe, he would be able to hear Kyle’s soft breathing on his pillow. Maybe, if he was brave enough, he would slip his fingers under Kyle’s hat and delicately stroke his soft, red curls. Maybe, if he was quiet enough, he could slide his head off of his pillow and listen to Kyle’s heartbeat, like he used to. Maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could stop time altogether and open his eyes to Kyle’s soft, brown irises, and they could shut out the world and continue lying together.

 

Maybe, when he woke up from this nightmare, everything would be okay again.

 

 

Stan groggily cracked his eyes open when he heard his mother’s voice from across the room.

  
“Stanley? Stanley, are you going to lie there all day again?”

  
He couldn’t bring himself to respond. His throat felt dry and itchy.

  
Sharon Marsh sighed from behind him. “Stanley, it isn’t healthy for you to be doing this. We’re… we’re all saddened and shocked by what happened, but… you have to keep going, Stanley. You have to keep living.”

  
No. He didn’t want to. If “keep going” meant living in a world where he couldn’t see Kyle’s smiling face every day, then he didn’t want to stay.

  
With another bout of silence, Sharon stepped quietly across the plush carpet of Stan’s room and picked up the plate of cold, untouched food. She tenderly stroked her son’s arm with her free hand and murmured, “Everything’s going to get better, Stanley. It’ll be okay.”

  
As Stan’s hand glided over the empty space next to him, he couldn’t believe her words.

  
She had left eventually; although he hadn’t noticed it at first, the scent of food had begun to grow stale, and the warmth of her touch had gone. Stan was alone with his thoughts once again.

  
His phone suddenly began to play the Cheesy Poofs theme song, and Stan snatched it up and unlocked it before it was even done playing. Maybe, just maybe, Kyle’s name would be at the top, along with some words, _any words—_

  
It was only his phone telling him it was on 15% and needed to be charged.

  
The hopeful grin that had spread across his face began to fade. With his lips once again drawn into a thin line and his eyes half-lidded, Stan hesitantly rolled over to his other side, facing the dim light of his lamp. His charger was hooked into the outlet behind the bedside table.

  
As his gaze focused, however, Stan noticed a green mitten hovering over where his arm used to be, like it was going to touch him before he moved. The mitten looked awfully familiar, as well as the orange sleeve it was connected to.

  
Stan’s breath suddenly hitched in his throat as his gaze traveled upward, recognizing that round face and those red curls poking out from underneath a green hat.

  
“Kyle!” Stan shouted, kicking the blankets off of his feet and leaping out of his bed. He looked the boy up and down spastically, from his brown snow boots to his wide brown eyes and slightly parted lips.

  
There was no one else it could have possibly been.

  
“Uh, hey, dude,” Kyle replied, slightly taken back by Stan’s sudden outburst. He lowered his hand from the air, and let it rest at his side. “I thought you were asleep, so I was just gonna wake you up and see if you were coming to school today. Are you sick?”

  
Stan didn’t answer right away, only continued to stare in amazement. He considered slapping himself to see if this was all simply just a dream, but now that he thought about it, even if it was, he didn’t want to wake up.

  
“Sick? No, no, not at all!” A grin stretched across Stan’s face and the corners of his mouth tensed, like he hadn’t smiled in such a long time his face almost completely forgot how to. “What about you, dude? I thought you were dead!”

  
“Dead?” Kyle echoed, his head slowly tilting to the side. “Why the hell would I be dead?”

  
“I dunno, dude.” Stan took a deep breath, his heart racing in his chest. “This entire week, I just thought…”

  
Everything had seemed so real. His grief had seemed so powerful, and yet… Kyle was clearly standing in front of him, his eyebrows knitted together and his lips turned down into a frown.

  
If Kyle was standing in front of him, then that meant he wasn’t dead.

  
Kyle wasn’t dead.

  
_Kyle wasn’t dead._

  
“Oh, Kyle…!” Tears sprang in Stan’s eyes, tears that had all but disappeared until now, and he grabbed either side of Kyle’s face with his clammy hands. He closed his eyes and felt it: the same smooth touch of Kyle’s skin.

  
Kyle laughed nervously, placing a hand on one of Stan’s arms as if to reassure him. “Uh, yeah, dude, I’m here. Don’t worry.” Hearing Kyle say the words himself put Stan at ease. His hammering heart began to steady in his chest. “But we really do need to be getting to school. It’s, like, already seven o’clock or something.”

  
“Oh, right!” Stan’s hands reluctantly left Kyle’s face, and he whipped around to look at his clock. They had just enough time to get to the bus before it left. Thankfully, Stan was already wearing his typical brown jacket and jeans (although he couldn’t remember the last time he had changed out of them or taken a shower, for that matter), so it wouldn’t take him long to get ready. He hastily buttoned up his jacket and stumbled over to his snow boots that sat near his door, slipping his feet into them and quickly lacing them up. He then hobbled over to his bed post where he had left his blue and red poofball hat, and slapped it onto his head.

  
“Alright, let’s go!” Stan announced, snatching up his backpack from the ground and stumbling out the door after Kyle. He tottered down the stairs, focusing on nothing but the orange jacket in front of him as he took each unsteady step one by one. His limbs felt shaky due to the fact that he had barely eaten a crumb as of late, but if Kyle wanted to go, he would follow Kyle until the ends of the Earth, shaky limbs and all.

  
“C’mon, dude, we’re gonna be late!” Kyle called over his shoulder. He passed by the Marsh’s empty couch and made his way over to the door.

  
“Yeah, I’m coming!” Stan replied, somehow making it to the bottom of the stairs without his legs giving out from underneath him. He turned his head to the kitchen and cupped a hand on one side of his mouth. “Bye, Mom! I’m going to school!” he called.

  
“Stan?” He heard his mother shout from the kitchen. “Stanley?!” He didn’t reply; instead, he followed Kyle out the door and stepped outside into the crisp, Colorado morning, shutting the door behind him. The sun felt oddly warm on his skin, and the fresh air felt foreign as it entered his lungs, as though he were being reunited with yet another friend.

  
Stan followed Kyle unsteadily out of his yard, and the two began their trek down to the bus stop.

  
“Kyle, dude, I’m so happy,” Stan blurted out as he continued to stumble after his friend. His mind felt fuzzy, and he couldn’t stop his words from coming out unfiltered. “I really did think you were dead… I was about ready to give up on everything. I haven’t felt this happy in a really long time.”

  
“I-it’s fine, dude. Seriously.” Kyle glanced back at him reassuringly. His figure was outlined in the morning sunlight, giving him a golden hue. Stan couldn’t take his eyes off of him.

  
Suddenly, it dawned on him; Stan could finally confess to Kyle. He could finally tell him how he really felt about him, how he was utterly head over heels in love with him. All of the regret from before channeled into a newfound bravery.

  
“Hey, uh, Kyle…” he began, abruptly stopping and standing up as straight as he could manage. He pressed his lips together, picking his brain for the right words.

  
“Yeah?” The red-headed boy stopped walking and turned his head to face his best friend. “What’s up?”

  
“I… I, uh…” Stan stuttered, fiddling with his coat’s sleeve as he shifted his weight to his other leg. His stomach began to churn. “I… I kind of—“

  
“Hey, look who it is! It’s Stan!”

  
Stan whipped his head around to face whoever had just interrupted him, his face clenched up in irritation. He spotted Butters trotting towards him, his hand waving fervently above his head, and Cartman dragging his feet just a few inches behind, his hands jammed into his pockets and his eyes directed at the ground. Stan cast a quick glance at Kyle, who only shrugged in return.

  
“Hiya, Stan!” Butters greeted warmly once he caught up to the two boys. Cartman stopped beside him, his gaze still fixated on the ground. “I haven’t seen you in a looong time! You look… uh… good?” His gaze traveled Stan up and down quizzically while Cartman scoffed next to him.

  
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Stan replied hastily. Did… did they really not notice Kyle standing next to him? His blue eyes jumped from Kyle to Butters to Cartman, but neither of the two boys that had greeted him showed any sign of acknowledgement. “But, you guys, it’s okay now! Kyle’s okay! He’s not dead!”

  
Cartman’s gaze snapped up from the ground, and the smile on Butters’ face slowly faded. “He’s… he’s not?” the blonde boy echoed, casting a quick glance at Cartman, who looked as though he had just been slapped in the face.

  
“Yeah! Look, can’t you see him? He’s standing right next to me!” Stan motioned towards Kyle, who hadn’t said a word. He only watched Butters and Cartman look to the space where Stan had indicated, his eyebrows knitted together. “Uh, hey, Butters,” he added nervously. “Hey, Fatass.”

  
“See? He just said hey! And he just called you a fatass, Cartman!” Stan spluttered, desperately hoping that they would finally stop this little game already. Kyle was clearly standing next to him! Hadn’t they tortured him enough already? Why were they still looking at him like they weren’t seeing the same thing?

  
Meanwhile, Cartman moved his gaze from where Kyle was to Stan himself. He studied his friend up and down, taking note of how sloppily buttoned up his jacket was, a few buttons pushed into their incorrect slits, much like Tweek Tweak’s everyday shirts. His hat sat crookedly on his head, slumped to one side, and his visibly-oily black hair poked out from underneath. One leg to his horribly wrinkled jeans was tucked into his loosely-tied snow boot, while the other crinkled around his ankle. His skin was deathly pale, and his eyes looked to be sunken in, dark circles prominent under his wide blue eyes.

  
_This_ kid was claiming that Kyle was alive?

  
Slowly, Cartman shook his head. “Stan, you crazy bast—“

  
He was suddenly interrupted by Butters grabbing his shoulder. “Ohh, man, I didn’t see him there at first! Hiya, Kyle!” He waved vaguely at the spot where Stan had previously motioned to, and Stan’s face lit up with relief.

  
“See? He’s here! He’s okay!” Stan slurred, almost as if he were reassuring himself and not the two boys standing in front of him. He turned and met Kyle’s brown gaze, tilting his head in the direction they had been walking. “C’mon, man, we’re gonna be late like you said!”

  
Daringly, Stan grabbed Kyle’s hand and began pulling him along, stumbling down the sidewalk while tightly gripping his friend’s green mitten. “Alright, alright, I’m _coming,”_ Kyle whined playfully, although he didn’t try to pull away.

  
Stan was so happy, he felt as though he could burst. Maybe his mother and Kenny and Butters were right… everything _did_ get better. Everything was okay now. As long as he had Kyle with him, everything was okay.

  
All the while, Butters and Cartman watched him grimly as he continued to totter gleefully towards the bus stop.

 

 

They were able to get to the bus on time. It had just rolled up as soon as the two boys got to the bus stop. Soon after they hopped in and plopped themselves in a seat, Butters and Cartman boarded as well; neither of them looked at Stan as he continued to babble to Kyle about whatever his brain coughed up.

  
Much to Stan’s surprise, a few kids that had passed him by had greeted him, always commenting on how he hadn’t been at school in forever and asking him how he was doing. When Butters had said that everyone was there for him, he hadn’t _actually_ taken it seriously. There wasn’t really a need for it anymore anyway; Kyle was still sitting next to him, staring out the window with the tiniest smile on his face, and that alone was enough to make Stan’s heart swell with happiness.

  
He hadn’t noticed that no one had greeted Kyle.

  
Eventually, the bus arrived at its destination, and kids began piling out. Stan waited until the walkway was clear, not wanting to get caught up in the crowd and trampled to death if he lost his balance, and trailed after the last kid getting out.

  
“Man, have you noticed that people are acting weird today?” Kyle asked as he stepped off of the bus after Stan. The walkway leading into the school was almost deserted, every kid already inside.

  
“People are always acting weird in South Park,” Stan answered, turning and waiting for Kyle to catch up to him. As the two got closer to the entrance, Stan dragging his feet on the concrete, he spotted a poster leaned up against the wall, surrounded by flowers, candles, and the occasionally stuffed bear. A framed picture of Kyle sat in the middle.

  
“See, look, dude!” Stan exclaimed, jabbing a finger in the direction of the poster. He stumbled over to what looked to be a memorial to Kyle, with phrases like “You will live in our hearts forever” and “You were the light of this school” written across the white poster, along with various pieces of notebook paper pasted to the board. Each note contained a long, drawn out message, complete with stupid little hearts, and a wooden cross poked out from behind a bouquet of flowers.

  
He didn’t remember Kyle ever being this popular. These people that put this stupid thing together didn’t even know that he was Jewish.

  
“Whoa…” Kyle stood beside Stan, examining the memorial left to him, in all of its inaccuracy and over exaggeration. He bent down and took off one of the notes, squinting at the small, handwritten letters, and began reading out loud monotonously. “’Dear Kyle, this tragedy has greatly affected us all. I’ve been crying nonstop for days now, because I am so sad to see you go. This school has certainly lost much of its light with you gone. It is so sad to see such a great person gone from this world. I hope you are at peace now, and we will all work to move on in your memory. Goodbye, Kyle. Love, Julia.’” He stared at the note for a few more moments before looking up quizzically at Stan. “Who the fuck is Julia?”

  
“I don’t know,” Stan answered with gritted teeth. These notes bled artificial sorrow and painted Kyle out to be some kind of saint… these people didn’t know a damn thing about Kyle. They didn’t know Kyle like he did. They didn’t even know that Kyle was _alive_.

  
“C’mon, man, help me clean this shit up,” Stan muttered, blowing out the numerous candles and gathering up an armful of decorations. He turned the corner of the school and tossed the items into the dumpster where the goth kids usually hung out. A flower petal clung to his sleeve, and Stan blew it off furiously, like it carried some kind of deadly disease. Kyle soon followed with his own assortment of items, tossing them in after Stan’s.

  
It took a few rounds of them hauling items to the dumpster to finally get everything. The flowers, the candles, the paper hearts, the teddy bears… all of it was thrown away. They were soon left only with the poster and the framed picture of Kyle.

  
“This has to be some kind of joke,” Stan insisted, studying the cleared area. He glanced over at Kyle, hoping that his friend would agree with him. “You don’t know anything about this, right?”

  
“What? Of course not,” Kyle replied sharply. He clicked his tongue in annoyance and lifted the picture of himself from the ground, studying it incredulously. “I’m just as confused as you are, man.”

  
Stan let out the smallest sigh of relief. “Yeah… yeah, I know.” He grabbed either side of the poster, and beckoned Kyle to follow him with the slight tilt of his head. As they got to the dumpster, he flung the poster into it, just as he did with its embellishments, and the framed picture soon followed.

  
Stan took in a breath of fresh air, rubbing his hands together. “Alright. Now we can get to class,” he declared, unsteadily making his way back to the front with Kyle beside him. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be any other Kyle junk in the hallway, or else they might never get to their room on time.

  
Thankfully, the hallways were deserted enough for the two boys to get to their lockers without much trouble. The walls even seemed to be clear of any sappy notes or hearts to Kyle, much to Stan’s delight.

  
The two grabbed the couple of light books needed for Garrison’s class, and quickly entered the room down the hall. It was buzzing with activity, some of Stan’s peers sitting in their desks, while others were standing up and visiting with their friends. As Stan entered, a few children gaped at him, while others called out a timid greeting after noticing his disheveled appearance.

  
“Uh, hey, Stan!” Clyde called from his desk. Stan put his books down at his desk, and turned to face the brunet boy. “Did you get my text about my mittens? My hands have been freezing all goddamn week.”

  
“Uh… yeah, I did,” Stan answered, busying himself in taking off his backpack. “I don’t think they’re at my house, man, I would have noticed them by now.”

  
“Aww, man…” Clyde sighed, his bottom lip slightly trembling. “My sister’s gonna be so pissed off at me…”

  
“Clyde thinks he left his mittens at your house?” Kyle inquired, setting down his own books and plopping his backpack onto the floor.

  
“Yeah, it’s weird. He hasn’t been over in, like, forever. I don’t even know where he got the idea from.” Stan almost wanted to laugh. Just yesterday, he was thinking about how he would never sit in this classroom with Kyle again, and yet here he was, setting his bag next to his chair with his best friend sitting at his desk.

  
“Stan?” A high-pitched voice interrupted his thoughts. “Stan, is that really you?”

  
Stan turned and was met with Wendy’s wide, dark eyes, one of her arms holding a book close to her chest. As she scanned him up and down, her eyebrows furrowed slightly.

  
“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Stan replied nonchalantly. Who the fuck else could it have been?

  
Wendy didn’t answer right away; she was still searching him over, frowning at his unkempt, scruffy appearance. She set her book down in the middle of Kyle’s desk, earning her a scowl from said boy, and began to unbutton Stan’s jacket.

  
Surprised, Stan grabbed Wendy’s hands. His jacket was already halfway unbuttoned. “Whoa, whoa, Wendy! What are you doing?!”

  
“I’m fixing your jacket, you idiot! Did you button this with your eyes closed or something?!” she scolded, slipping her hands out of Stan’s grasp and continuing to unbutton his jacket. When she got every button free, she began to slip each one into its correct slit. When she finished, his appearance had slightly improved, although he still looked as though he had just rolled out of bed (which, more or less, was what had actually happened).

  
Wendy wrinkled her nose as she studied Stan’s untidy, oily hair, and reached up to set his hat straight on his head. “When was the last time you’ve taken a shower?”

  
“Why does it matter?!” Stan swatted her hands away, taking a couple of steps back. She seemed unfazed, her eyes still drilling into him intently. _She’s just doing this because we broke up._ Stan thought angrily to himself. _She’s just acting like this because I haven’t talked to her recently._

  
“Because you look like you just crawled out of a dumpster, Stan!” Wendy shouted, although her voice was almost drowned out by the chatter of the other children. Her face suddenly softened, and she tucked a loose strand of her black hair behind her ear. “Are you doing okay? Do you need someone to talk t—“

  
“I’m _fine,_ Wendy,” Stan objected, sitting himself down angrily in his chair. Yesterday, he wouldn’t have said the same thing. “Just leave me alone. Get your stupid book off of Kyle’s desk.” He motioned to the desk that his friend occupied.

  
Just to have something to do, Stan opened up a side pocket on his backpack to pull out a pencil; the pocket, however, was empty.

  
“Oh, shit,” he muttered under his breath. He then zipped up the pocket and turned to Kyle. “Hey, dude, do you have a pencil I could borrow? I didn’t bring one with me, I guess.”

  
“Uhh, sorry. I don’t think I have one…” After searching his own backpack and turning up with nothing, Kyle shrugged apologetically.

  
“Stan?” Wendy piped up. She was still standing where she had been previously, her eyes widened in alarm. “Stan, who are you talking to?”

  
Stan returned her distress with a glare. He was tired of people looking at him like that, like they obviously weren’t seeing the same thing. This joke was being taken way too seriously. “To Kyle? Who does it look like I’m talking to?”

  
Before Wendy had a chance to respond, Mr. Garrison entered the room, unenthusiastically making his way to his desk. “Alright, children, settle down. Wendy, hurry up and get in your seat.”

  
Wendy glanced from Mr. Garrison to Stan, her lips slightly parted like she wanted to say more. With one final worried glance at Stan, she picked up her book from Kyle’s desk and made her way stiffly back to her seat.

  
“Man, Wendy’s such a bitch,” Kyle whispered as Mr. Garrison began talking about something that piqued neither of the boys’ interests.

  
“Yeah, for real,” Stan whispered back, resting his cheek on his hand. He hadn’t been to school in so long, he had forgotten how long and dreary his teacher’s lectures were.

  
The lecture was so mind-numbingly boring that Stan had fallen asleep five minutes into it. It didn’t particularly surprise him or anything when he was being shaken awake by Kyle as the bell was ringing in the background; he had been more active today than he had been all month.

  
“Hey, dude,” he greeted hoarsely as he lifted his head from his desk. He squeezed his eyes shut and stretched his limbs. His cheek that had been pressed against the desk felt numb. “How long was I asleep?”

 

“The entire time,” Kyle replied simply, throwing his backpack over his shoulder. “C’mon, dude, it’s lunch time. I’m starving.”

  
Now that Stan thought about it, he was starving as well. He hadn’t had an appetite in God knows how long, but now his stomach was practically screaming for anything. Hastily, he jumped up from his desk, shoved his books into his bag, and hurried out the door behind the mass of children with Kyle following close behind.

  
Stan had almost fallen asleep again standing in the lunch line, of all places. Kyle had to shake him awake a couple of times. “Are you okay, Stan?” he asked, a worried expression on his face.

  
“Yeah… yeah, sorry,” Stan mumbled, rubbing his eye sleepily. “I’ve just had a really rough time lately.”

  
Kevin Stoley, who was behind Stan in line, listened to their conversation and left a considerable amount of space between them as the line progressed forward.

  
After they had gotten their trays, they sat at an empty table near the middle of the cafeteria. Immediately, Stan began shoving forkfuls of enchiladas into his mouth, his tongue rejoicing in its savory reunion with food.

  
“Man, the food doesn’t taste as good compared to when Chef was here,” Kyle stated glumly, licking his lips after he swallowed his bite of pizza. Stan agreed, although his mouth was so full of food that Kyle couldn’t make out anything he said.

  
“Pfft, what?” Kyle laughed gleefully. Stan stopped chewing, and those same butterflies that he always got began to flutter in his stomach. He had been yearning for that laugh for so long, he almost wanted to start crying again.

  
“Hey, can we sit here?” a nasally, monotonous voice broke Stan out of his trance. He shifted his gaze from Kyle to Craig, who looked as though he had already made up his mind to sit down, but was just asking out of pure politeness. Tweek stood closely behind him, a tray of nothing but chicken nuggets in his hand and a thermos of coffee most likely tucked under his arm. Kenny poked his head out from behind Tweek, and waved to his friend. “Hey, Stan!” he greeted in his typical muffled voice.

  
“Mm.” Stan quickly swallowed his food and nodded, smiling in Kenny’s direction. “Sure, I guess.”

  
Kenny went around to the other side to sit next to Stan, setting his usual paper bag onto the table, while Craig set his tray right where Kyle’s was; Kyle had to push his tray out of the way in order to avoid having his pizza squashed.

  
“Dude, what the hell?” he objected, although Craig didn’t seem to hear. He looked as though he were fully intent on taking Kyle’s spot, about to sit in the space the redhead occupied, until Stan spoke up.

  
“Hey, Craig, you can’t sit right there,” Stan interjected, pointing with his fork to where Kyle was sitting. He said that he could sit with them, not _sit on_ Kyle.

  
Craig stood up straight. “What? Why not?”

  
Stan let out an irritated sigh. How many times today did he have to point this out? “Because Kyle’s sitting there, duh.”

  
Craig stood in silence, glancing from a frozen Kenny to Stan, like he was waiting for one of them to deliver the punchline. When neither of them said anything, he arched an eyebrow. “…Are you kidding me?”

  
“No! He just pushed his tray out of the way because you put yours there, you asshole,” Stan replied defensively. This was all a part of the joke, that stupid fucking joke that everyone took way too seriously.

  
Craig seemed unfazed. “…Are you _serious?”_

  
“Yes, I’m being serious!”

  
“…Dude.” Craig met Kenny’s worried gaze for a few seconds. He sighed, and then began waving his arm where Kyle was sitting. The redhead yelped as he dodged Craig’s arm, eventually sliding out of his seat and standing up. “Dude, what the hell is wrong with you?!”

  
“Stop that, Craig, you’re gonna hit him!” Stan jumped up from his seat and pulled Kyle towards him, away from Craig’s swinging arm.

  
“I’m not going to hit anything, Stan, because there isn’t anything fucking here,” he retorted, letting his arm plop back at his side.

  
“Well, of course there isn’t anymore, because you made him move!”

  
Craig stared dumbfounded at Stan, appearing to be out of things to say. Tweek tugged on the sleeve of his navy blue jacket and whispered, “Look, let’s just go, Craig. Jimmy has some open seats next to him. Just leave Stan alone.”

  
Snatching up his lunch, Craig rolled his eyes and stormed off towards Jimmy. Tweek, casting one final glance at Stan, hastily followed, a couple of chicken nuggets tumbling off of his tray as he scurried after him. Kenny rested a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “Stan—“ he started to say, but was abruptly cut off.

  
“Just leave me alone, Kenny!” Stan spat, shoving the blond boy’s hand away. “I’m tired of all of you looking at me like that! I’m tired of all of you acting like Kyle isn’t here! Just fuck off!”

  
Hesitantly, Kenny’s hand retreated back to his side. He slowly rose from the table, picked up his sack lunch, and trailed after Tweek and Craig. With a small sigh of relief, thankful that he was alone with Kyle once again, Stan picked up his fork and prodded what was left of his enchiladas. He didn’t particularly feel hungry anymore.

  
Kyle quietly sat back down in his seat, and pulled his tray back towards him. “Let’s just finish eating,” he said softly. Had Kyle not told him to, Stan wouldn’t have eaten the rest of his food. He noticed Cartman watching him from another table, then shaking his head and going back to nibbling on pieces of his lunch while Butters chattered to Token and Clyde.

  
Stan had managed to get through the rest of the day without any more disruptions. His peers had kept their distance, and no one else greeted him (or even looked at him, for that matter). It didn’t bother Stan very much; if they were going to pretend that Kyle wasn’t there, then he had no interest in talking to them anyway.

  
As the bell rang at three o’clock sharp, children began to pile out of the school. Stan walked with Kyle down the pavement, no longer staggering around. The nap and food had given him some of his energy back, although he still felt slightly weak.

  
“Sooo, what do you wanna do now?” Kyle suggested as the two walked down the deserted sidewalk. “I don’t think Kenny or Cartman are gonna want to hang out.”

  
“Yeah. Who needs them, anyway?” Stan replied bitterly, stepping on a lump of snow that had formed on the concrete. It was one thing that Craig and Wendy were ignoring Kyle, but Cartman and Kenny were a whole other story. Now that he thought about it, Stan was surprised that Cartman hadn’t reacted in the slightest way when Kyle called him a fatass that morning. Had he gained that much self-control in Stan’s absence that he could ignore Kyle when he teased him about his weight, _and_ avoid calling him something nasty back?

  
Stan sighed. Everything had been so weird today.

  
“Wanna just go to my house or something?” he suggested, rubbing his eye sleepily. Now that he knew Kyle was safe, all of the exhaustion from before had crashed onto his shoulders; he felt as though he could curl up and sleep for an entire month, not to mention his stomach was churning slightly from the sudden intake of food.

  
Kyle shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”

  
After the small trek to Stan’s house, the two boys tossed their bags next to the coffee table in the Marsh’s living room and hopped onto the couch. They played Stan’s Xbox One, the one he had gotten after the whole ordeal on Black Friday a while back, until Stan had slowly slipped into unconsciousness with his head lying on the arm of the couch. He wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep, only that he had awoken to his father putting a blanket over him. Only until he and his son made eye contact did he jump back, like Stan was some kind of snake about to bite him.

  
“Oh, uh, hey, Stan,” he spluttered as casually as possible. In his hand was one of his “gluten-free” can of beers, which didn’t surprise Stan very much. “How’re you, uh… holding up? You doin’ good?”

  
Stan pushed himself up from the couch and yawned loudly. “What? Yeah, I’m _fine,_ Dad,” he replied, his raw voice hinted with just a drop of annoyance. He appreciated the concern, somewhat, but it had gotten to the point where it was downright irritating reassuring everyone that he was alright. Couldn’t they see he was doing fine?

  
“Oh, oh, that’s good, Stan… that’s good.” Randy glanced to the side and took a sip of his beer. “It’s just that, y’know, you’ve been in your room all this time, and you just kinda went to school today without any warning.”

  
Stan studied his father for a few moments, wondering if he should bring up Kyle. If the adults were in on this too, then… would his dad give him that same, concerned look that everyone else had given him? Would he try to convince him that Kyle wasn’t actually here, like Craig did?

  
No, Stan wasn’t going to give them anything else to work with.

 

“I just felt like going today, Dad,” he said stoutly. “That’s all.”

  
“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s good, Stan,” Randy reassured quickly, almost stumbling over his words. “I was just… well, you know your mom and I worry about you, right?”

  
Stan hardened his gaze. “You don’t have to worry, Dad, I said I was fine.” It seemed to him that Randy was looking for an opportunity to hit him with one of those doubtful, uneasy looks, and wasn’t just trying to check up on his son in the only awkward way he knew how.

  
“Alright, alright.” Randy took another sip of his beer, and a sudden silence settled in the room. He cleared his throat, pointing in the direction of the kitchen. “If you need me, I’ll be, uh… out in the back.”

  
“Yeah, sure.” Stan rubbed his eye sleepily, grateful that he was able to get through that conversation without much idiocy. He noticed that the game was on its pause menu, and he turned his head to look at Kyle. “Sorry, you know my dad’s kind of stupid someti—“

  
Kyle was gone.

  
“Kyle…?” Stan called out, a sick feeling beginning to churn in his stomach. He threw the blanket off of him and frantically began to look around; Kyle was nowhere to be found.

  
“Kyle?!” Stan jumped up from the couch, his Xbox controller rolling off of his lap and landing on the floor with a thud. There was no reply.

  
With his breaths coming out in short, quick gasps, Stan dashed up the stairs, hoping with all of his heart that his friend had just gone in his room for something. Maybe he was looking for the charger to his controller! Yeah, that seemed plausible! Silly Kyle, didn’t he know that the cable was already downstairs? There was no need for him to look in Stan’s room! Actually, there was no need for him to leave Stan’s line of sight at all!

  
As he reached the top of the stairs, Stan abruptly collided with a cushion of orange. Relief washed over him, and he felt tears began to well in his eyes as he recognized Kyle’s worried voice and the soft, cotton scent of his jacket.

  
“Whoa, dude! What happened? Are you okay?” Kyle put his hands on Stan’s shoulders, gently nudging him so he could check his face, but Stan wrapped his arms around Kyle, squeezing him tightly and never wanting to let go.

  
“I didn’t know where you went, Kyle,” Stan sobbed, his voice muffled in Kyle’s jacket. He couldn’t stop the tears from flowing now. “I thought for a second what everyone was saying was true. I thought you really were gone.”

  
“It’s okay, Stan,” Kyle reassured gently, his hand stroking his friend’s back. Stan felt his heart beginning to steady, his nose still buried in Kyle’s jacket. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  
A small silence followed.

  
“…Can you stay?” Stan finally asked, his arms tightening around Kyle like he didn’t have a choice either way. “Tonight, can you stay?”

  
Kyle didn’t reply at first. He continued to stroke Stan’s back, until his friend lifted his red, splotchy face off of his jacket. His nose was slightly running, and his eyes were faintly bloodshot.

  
“Yeah,” he finally said, his brown eyes soft and reassuring. “Yeah, I will. It’s getting late anyway; I’ll head home real quick, get some clothes and eat something, and then head back. Sound okay?”

  
Stan pursed his lips. If Kyle left, then that meant that he could die on the way over there. A car could run over the sidewalk and hit him, and then he would be plunged back into the nightmare all over again. Without Stan being there to protect him, Kyle was exposed to all sorts of dangers that could kill him… he stubbornly tightened his grip.

  
Guessing what was on his friend’s mind, Kyle tilted Stan’s chin up to stare him in the eyes. “I’ll be alright, Stan,” he said slowly. Stan absorbed every word that ghosted past Kyle’s lips. “I promise I’ll be extra careful. I won’t be gone for long.” He brushed a strand of oily hair out of Stan’s face. “Just trust me, okay?”

  
Stan felt numbed by Kyle’s touch, and his heart was beating faintly in his chest. “You’ll be okay,” he repeated quietly, and Kyle nodded in reply. He slowly released his grip on Kyle, his arms retreating back and wrapping themselves protectively around his own body. “He’ll be okay… Kyle will be okay…” he continued to murmur.

  
Kyle gave him one last reassuring look before slipping past him and heading down the stairs. Slowly, Stan dragged his feet down the hall to his room, his arms still wrapped around his body. “He’ll be back…” he mumbled, his eyes fixed on the carpet in front of him. “Kyle will be back… he’ll be okay…”

  
Stan staggered into his room and shut the door behind him.

 

 

The entire time Kyle was gone, Stan was sitting on his bed, his knees brought up to his chest as he rocked back and forth anxiously. He tried stilling his trembling arms by wrapping them tightly around his legs. His entire body shook, and his teeth chattered uncontrollably. The only thing that kept him from sobbing was Kyle’s words before he left: _“Just trust me, okay?”_

  
As if Kyle were in front of him now, Stan nodded his head obediently.

  
Stan’s mother had come into his room after a while to tell him that dinner was ready. While trying to steady his voice and hastily pulling out his phone to stare at the screen and look somewhat natural, he had told her he wasn’t hungry. He was suspicious of his mother’s own involvement in this Kyle joke, but he had decided firmly that he wasn’t going to give them any more bait to take.

  
If they wanted to torture him, they weren’t going to get anything else from him.

  
Stan must have blacked out once again, for when he cracked open his eyes, Kyle was shaking his shoulder. “Hey, dude,” he greeted warmly. “You have another good nap?”

  
“Mm… I guess.” Stan yawned loudly, a feeling of comfort and relief washing over him. His window was open, the chilly night breeze flowing into his bedroom. He shivered in his wrinkled brown jacket.

  
“Oh, sorry.” Kyle dropped his backpack on the floor and stepped over towards the open window. He pushed it closed, switching the latch to lock it. “I told my mom that you were going through some emotional problems or something, so she should be fine with letting me stay for a few days.”

  
Stan smiled; leave it to Kyle to come up with a convincing lie.

  
After shutting the window, Kyle slipped off his snow boots and zipped open his backpack. He pulled out a handful of clothing, what Stan assumed to be pajamas, and began to unzip his coat. Trying his absolute best not to stare, Stan wobbled over to his dresser, his cheeks burning ever so slightly, and began to fish for his own pajamas. The thought of changing clothes hadn’t occurred to him in the past weeks, and as he began to unbutton his jacket and peel off his clothing one piece at a time, he only then noticed how dirty he felt. His skin was sticky with weeks’ worth of sweat, and as he swept a hand through his slick hair, his fingers shone slightly with oil. He wrinkled his nose, and lifted his loose, long-sleeved blue shirt over his head; Kyle didn’t seem to mind his untidy appearance, so he didn’t care to do anything about it.

  
As he pulled up his pajama pants, Stan sank his feet into the fuzzy carpet. He only now noticed how cold and wet they were, like he had just been outside walking through the snow. He confusedly glanced back at his bed where his feet had been; there wasn’t any sort of puddle or stain in the sheets…

  
“I’m gonna go brush my teeth,” Kyle stated after he finished buttoning up his Terrence and Phillip pajama shirt. He made his way over to the door, his toothbrush and toothpaste clasped in one hand, and glanced back at Stan amusingly. “You wanna give me another hug and cry into my shirt again before I go?”

  
“Yeah, sure. Come rub my back again while I’m at it,” Stan retorted, a playful smile spreading across his face. As Kyle went across the hall to brush his teeth, Stan bunched up his clothes into one big mound and left it next to his dresser. Despite the fact that it was around his bed time, he didn’t feel particularly tired. His brain still felt fuzzy, but he doubted he would be able to fall asleep as easily as he had back in Garrison’s class.

  
Stan made his way over to his bed, jumping up onto the squashy mattress and picking his phone up off of his bedside table. There wasn’t any need for his phone’s sound to be on now, he realized, and he quickly turned down the volume, thankful that he wouldn’t have to listen to the stupid Cheesy Poofs song anymore.

  
He had a couple of messages and a missed call. Kenny had called him when he had been asleep downstairs, and had messaged him soon after. _“call me back asap”_ it said, although Stan had no desire to speak to the blond boy. The other one was an angry message from Cartman, of all people:

  
_U fucking asshole, Stan. U were the one that wrecked that thing outside the school, weren’t u?? everyone thinks i fucking did it and now i’m getting shit from everybody!! u better find a way to fix it stan, or i swear to god i will make u wish u never came out of ur room_

  
Stan rolled his eyes. Cartman was most likely talking about the stupid “memorial” to Kyle. It was obviously a significant part of their joke, but Stan wasn’t going to be bullied back into it. He had already decided that he wasn’t going to give into them anymore.

  
He quickly typed, _“you guys are taking this joke way too far,”_ and sent it. Not even a minute later, his phone vibrated in his hands.

  
_“u fucking psycho”_ was all it said.

 

What was that supposed to mean?

  
His train of thought was interrupted as Kyle entered his room again, his hands free of his toothbrush and toothpaste. He yawned, rubbing his eye sleepily, and crawled onto Stan’s bed next to him.

  
“Scoot over, man, I’m tired,” he mumbled, stepping over Stan and crashing onto the empty space next to him, where Stan had been wishing him to be just last night. Abandoning Cartman’s text, he set his phone down on his bedside table and shut off his lamp as Kyle got settled underneath his blanket.

  
“You need another one?” Stan offered, motioning to the many blankets that were crammed at the end of his bed.

  
“Nah…” Kyle murmured, his head sinking comfily into the pillow. “I’m good…”

  
They were both lying on their sides, facing each other. Kyle’s eyes fluttered shut after a few moments, and his breathing began to steady. Stan studied his friend’s serene face, this time in his own bed rather than in a coffin. He scooted closer to Kyle, close enough to where he could feel his soft exhales on his cheeks.

  
Stan’s heart raced in his chest, and a strange sensation welled up inside of him. He laid as still as possible, studying Kyle for any kind of sign that he was still awake. Slowly, Stan inched even closer to Kyle’s face, gulping as their foreheads touched. He had fantasized about what kissing Kyle was like more times than he cared to admit, always being followed by a wave of nausea. He wondered… was it anything like when he kissed Wendy?

  
Only one way to find out.

  
Slowly, with his heart throbbing in his chest, Stan leaned forward ever so slightly and pressed his lips onto Kyle’s parted ones. He kept his eyes open at first, just in case Kyle woke up, but eventually fluttered them shut and focused on his senses. Kyle’s lips were soft, like he had always imagined them to be.

  
Stan broke away to take in air. He rubbed his lips together, savoring the feeling of their kiss. He studied Kyle’s sleeping face, and unable to stop himself, he captured his best friend’s lips for a second time. His hand bravely snaked up to Kyle’s, their fingers intertwining.

  
It was as though his brain had shut off; all of Stan’s problems had dissolved, the only thing left in his small world being Kyle. He was fine with it. Let the Earth completely go to ruin; as long as he was with Kyle, he was fine.

  
Stan kept his eyes closed, welcoming every sensation that came with this moment. The softness of Kyle’s lips, the smoothness of his hands, and his slow exhales on Stan’s upper lip… Stan found himself addicted to it, couldn’t bring himself to stop.

  
Suddenly, Stan felt Kyle’s lips push against his own, felt his own hand being softly squeezed. Kyle’s breath had lost its steady rhythm, and was now exhaling deeply. Stan’s eyes flew open as their kiss deepened, expecting Kyle to have been trying to pull away instead of embracing him, but his eyes were still closed and his cheeks were burning a slight red.

  
The two held contact for a few more moments. Slowly, as if they were in sync, their lips broke apart simultaneously. Kyle slowly opened his eyes, staring into Stan’s wide, blue irises.

  
A small silence hung between them.

  
Finally, Kyle spoke. “…Stan… what was that?” Their hands were still clinging to each other, but neither of them seemed to notice.

  
With his heart pounding in his chest, Stan glanced to the side, away from Kyle’s puzzled gaze. He hadn’t been counting on him waking up… and now that he had been caught, he didn’t know any other way to get out of this other than to finally be honest.

  
Either that, or make up some bullshit excuse.

  
“I… I, uh,” Stan stuttered, his face growing hot with embarrassment. “I was just… there was some toothpaste on your lip and I was cleaning it off… with my face.” It sounded just as stupid as it did in his head.

  
Kyle stared at him skeptically, his eyes half-lidded and his lips pulled down in a frown. “Dude. Really.”

  
“…Sorry.” Stan sighed. There was no hiding it now. “I just… I really like you, Kyle. Like, really, _really_ like you. A lot more than Wendy, and a lot more than everyone else.” The word “like” couldn’t even cover the extent of Stan’s feelings, but it was all his brain could manage to cough up.

  
Stan closed his eyes and clamped his mouth shut, bracing himself for rejection. Panic began to rise in his chest, and he wished he could have just rolled over and gone to sleep instead of giving in to that sudden temptation. He was stupid for possibly thinking that they shared mutual affection, that Kyle could ever “like” Stan the way Stan liked him. He was so, so stupid—

  
“That’s… that’s great, Stan,” Kyle finally replied, his tone light with relief. He was lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. “That’s so great.”

  
“Huh?” Stan’s eyes swung open, and he studied Kyle’s face. His cheeks were almost as red as his hair.

  
“I-I mean… oh, man.” Kyle began to laugh. His fingers untangled themselves from Stan’s grip, much to Stan’s disappointment, and he hid his reddening face in his hands. “You don’t know how relieved I am to hear that, Stan. You know, I used to be so scared that you and Wendy were gonna get married in the future, and I was going to be your best man, and I’d have to force myself to smile and be happy while you ran off with her. I mean, it would be my best friend’s wedding, you know? I wouldn’t want to ruin it with my own damn feelings.” He took in a deep breath. “I always thought you were happy with Wendy and that you only liked girls, so I just… tried convincing myself that there was no chance of it ever happening. You know?”

  
Stan gazed in awe at Kyle. He hadn’t rejected him… he didn’t ruin their relationship. In fact, Kyle said he liked him, too!

  
“I-I didn’t know you could like both,” Stan confessed. His hand felt oddly incomplete now that Kyle had pulled his away.

  
“Yeah. Me, too.” Kyle lifted his hands off of his face rolled back over on his side, staring into Stan’s pale blue eyes. Faint traces of red still lingered on his cheeks. “I-I mean, I don’t know if I like both, but… I just know I really like you. Like, really, _really_ like you, Stan.” He smiled gently, his hand snaking back over to Stan’s and fitting his fingers in between his friend’s.

  
They continued to stare at each other, Stan’s brain absent of any thoughts. He couldn’t believe Kyle had felt the same way about him, all this time. All this time, he had been worried that Kyle would think he was gross or something for liking him _and_ Wendy. All this time, he had been worried that Kyle would start acting awkwardly around him, to the point where he would just stop speaking to him altogether.

  
And now Kyle was saying that he felt the same way?

  
His heart swelling with happiness, Stan leaned forward and captured Kyle’s lips once again, melting into his embrace. Kyle pushed back gently and pulled himself closer to Stan, their legs tangling together. He was suddenly thankful for not just rolling over and going to sleep, thankful that he had woken up Kyle, and thankful that everything had worked out the way it did.

  
Stan hadn’t felt this happy since he had found out Kyle was alive this morning.

  
They pulled away from each other eventually. Kyle gazed at Stan with half-lidded eyes and the tiniest, sleepiest smile on his face. His arms laced around Stan’s body and he held him closely, resting his chin on top of Stan’s head.

  
“Goodnight, Stan,” he whispered quietly. In a few minutes, his breathing was steady once again.

  
Stan, with his head pressed against Kyle’s chest, closed his eyes and listened. He could hear it: the soft pitter-patter that he had wanted to hear for the longest time. He breathed in Kyle’s comforting scent one last time before letting the familiar heartbeat lull him to sleep.

 

 

As sunlight began to peek through the curtains, Stan cracked his eyes open. His nose was buried in a navy blue fabric. He closed his eyes and slowly inhaled, memories of the night before flooding into his mind. Kyle was fine. He was fine. Everything was fine.

  
Stan opened his eyes and gazed up at Kyle, who was unsurprisingly still asleep. His arms were wrapped loosely around Stan, and the sunlight peeking from beneath the curtains illuminated his sleeping figure. He sighed lightly and nuzzled deeper into the pillow, his arms tightening around Stan.

  
As much as Stan would have loved to stay in this position, his rumbling stomach got the better of him. He gently lifted one of Kyle’s arms and slipped out from underneath the blanket, setting his arm delicately back onto his bed. He began to tiptoe quietly out of his room, but suddenly stopped as he reached the door. With clenched fists and a reddening face, Stan shuffled back over to Kyle, pecked him quickly on the forehead, and dashed out of his room.

  
Thankfully Kyle was still asleep, or Stan would have never heard the end of how horrendously awkward that was.

  
Stan wobbled his way down the stairs, his legs still slightly shaky, and entered the kitchen. His mother was leaning against the counter, talking on the phone. She paused midsentence and smiled at her son as he made his way to the cupboard.

  
“Good morning, Stanley,” she greeted, her voice chipper now that her son was no longer holed up in his room.

  
“Morning,” Stan answered flatly. His eyes scanned the various boxes of food for something to eat. At this point, with his stomach gurgling as loud as it was, he wasn’t too picky. He settled on a box of Poptarts, reaching up on his tiptoes to grab it.

  
“Sorry, Sheila. You were saying?” Sharon continued her prior conversation. Stan glanced at his mother out of the corner of his eye, his hands busying themselves in opening the box of Poptarts. What did Kyle’s mom want at six in the morning?

  
“Oh, yes, it was terrible, Sharon, I’m telling you!” Stan could hear her obnoxious voice all the way from where he was standing. “The kitchen window and the front door were just wide open! But it’s weird; they didn’t take anything of value. It’s like they just broke in and left!”

  
“That’s strange,” Sharon replied thoughtfully. “Are you sure it wasn’t Ike?”

  
“Yes, yes, positive! Even if he were able to climb out of his crib, there’s no way he could climb up onto the kitchen counter like that! It’s just too tall!” Sheila sighed loudly, her voice slightly quivering. “We just don’t need this right now, Sharon.”

  
“I understand, Sheila…”

  
Rolling his eyes, Stan put the box of Poptarts back into the cupboard and made back upstairs with a single packet of strawberry-flavored pastries in his hand. As if anyone “needed” a person breaking into their house at any time…

  
Stan quietly entered his room, wanting to let Kyle sleep a little longer. As he opened the pack of Poptarts and pulled one out, however, Kyle cracked one of his eyes open sleepily. “Hey, dude,” he greeted hoarsely, stretching out his legs and curling his toes.

  
“Hey,” Stan replied through his mouthful of food. He tottered over to his bed and climbed back into it. “Poptart?”

  
“Yeah, later.” Kyle rubbed his eye sleepily and rolled over on his back. He let his hands rest behind his head while his eyes wandered the ceiling.

  
They laid in silence for a few moments. Stan continued to munch on his breakfast while racking his brains for something to say, occasionally glancing over at Kyle. He couldn’t tell what he was thinking, couldn’t read the blank expression on his face.

  
Finally, he blurted out, “So, uh, your mom’s on the phone with my mom downstairs, and apparently someone broke into your house last night.”

  
Probably not the best news to wake up to.

 

“What?!” Kyle sprang up from the pillow. “Are you serious?!”

  
Stan was slightly taken back, like it was unusual or something for Kyle to react that way. He rested a reassuring hand on Kyle’s shoulder. “Yeah, but it’s okay. Your mom said that they didn’t take anything of value. It’s like the just came in and went right back out.”

  
Kyle sat with his lips pursed, the alarm slowly dissolving from his face. He lifted Stan’s hand off of his shoulder and laid back down, his head landing onto the pillow with a soft thud. He was still holding Stan’s hand, examining its every crease and vein.

  
“I bet it was that fatass Cartman or something,” Kyle mumbled, absentmindedly caressing Stan’s hand. Stan would believe it; considering the threatening text he had gotten yesterday, he wouldn’t put it past Cartman to be scheming something.

  
Stan finished the last of his Poptart, brushing the crumbs off of his mouth with his sleeve. He laid down on his side to face Kyle, who was still staring blankly at his hand and running his fingers across his skin.

  
“Kyle?” Stan finally piped up. He wasn’t opposed to Kyle touching him, but couldn’t stand not being able to tell what was on his mind.

  
“Oh, sorry…” Kyle’s fingertips froze. “I was just… thinking about how crazy this all was.”

  
Stan assumed that “this all” meant what had happened last night. “Good crazy or bad crazy?”

  
Kyle scoffed lightly. “Definitely good crazy.”

  
Squeezing Stan’s hand, Kyle gazed into Stan’s eyes before leaning forward. Stan eagerly mirrored Kyle’s movements, and just before their lips touched, Stan’s mother called down the hallway. “Stan, are you getting ready for school?!”

  
The sudden noise caused Stan to jerk forward, his lips landing sloppily just below Kyle’s eye while Kyle’s mashed onto his chin. The two boys burst into laughter, rolling over onto their backs while their cheeks burned in embarrassment.

  
“Yeah, yeah, Mom, I’m going,” Stan called back between fits of laughter. He sat up, tossed his blanket off of him, and pushed himself off of his bed. “C’mon, dude, we gotta get ready,” he said over his shoulder. Kyle soon rolled out of bed after him, and the two began to get ready for school.

  
Once Kyle had finished lacing up his boots and Stan had plopped his poofball hat on his head, the redheaded boy swung his backpack over his shoulder and glanced warily back at Stan. “I’m gonna go stop by my house before we go to the bus stop,” he said carefully, like he already knew how Stan was going to react.

  
Just has he predicted, Stan whipped around to face him, his eyes widened in alarm. “No, no, no, Kyle, no, you _can’t,”_ he spluttered, stepping towards Kyle and latching onto his arms. “Your mom said everything was fine! Why can’t you just, like, call her or somethi—“

  
Kyle interrupted him with a kiss, his hands holding either side of Stan’s face. Stan melted into his embrace, his shoulders relaxing like Kyle was the only thing that was holding him upright. Slowly, Kyle pulled away, his eyes soft and comforting.

  
“I told you I’d be fine, Stan. I said that yesterday and I’m still here, right?” The only thought that ran through Stan’s mind was about how brilliantly brown Kyle’s eyes were.

  
Kyle’s hands slid off of Stan’s face. “I promise I’ll be fine, Stan. Just go to the bus stop, and I’ll meet you there.” When Stan didn’t reply and only continued to stare, Kyle slipped out of the room.

  
“K-Kyle…!” Stan called out pathetically. He snatched up his own bag and began to stumble after the redhead, his arm reached out like he was about to grab the back of his orange jacket. No matter how close his hand seemed to be, he couldn’t ever seem to reach it.

  
“Kyle, wait!” Stan stumbled quickly down the stairs. Kyle was already crossing the empty living room. He didn’t seem to hear Stan, only continued to walk towards the front door in silence. Without looking back, he twisted the knob and tentatively shut the door behind him before Stan could reach him.

  
Not even a second after the door closed, Stan lurched forward and yanked it back open. “Kyle!” he shouted, but suddenly froze as he noticed a familiar brown mitten hovering right where the doorknob used to be. “…Kenny?”

  
Surprised that Stan had answered the door before he had even made his presence known, Kenny lowered his fist and let it rest at his side. “Hey, Stan,” he greeted, his voice muffled by his orange parka. His blue gaze was hard and his eyebrows were furrowed. “You never called me back.”

  
Stan wasn’t listening at first; his eyes furiously scanned the area, searching for Kyle’s green hat. His yard was empty, with the exception of Kenny. He must have ran to his house, Stan concluded. _Because he knows how worried I am. He’ll hurry up and come back to me… he promised._

  
Stan hid his trembling hand behind his back, unable to shake off his anxiety. When he noticed that Kenny was staring at him and waiting for an answer, Stan swallowed roughly in an attempt to steady his voice. “Um… yeah, sorry. I was… kind of busy last night.” It wasn’t like it was a complete lie on his part.

  
Kenny continued to stare, his ice-blue eyes scanning Stan up and down. Finally, he spoke, his voice dangerously calm. “…Did you say Kyle’s name just now?”

  
Stan suddenly stopped trembling. He recognized that tone of voice… no, no, no, he was not going to listen to this again. “Yeah,” he answered sharply, his gaze narrowing. “Why? Is that a problem?”

  
Kenny’s brows rose, slightly taken back by Stan’s aggressiveness. He studied his friend’s cold stare, and then sighed softly. “…Dude, Stan, we’re all really worried about you. You just suddenly came out of your room and starting saying all this stuff about Kyle—“

  
“Because all of you assholes are pretending that he’s dead!” Stan shouted, pushing Kenny by the shoulders off the front step of his house. He stepped forwarding daringly while his friend stumbled backwards. “Look, I get it, Kenny, okay? I get that I haven’t been outside in a while. I get that I’ve missed a lot, and I get that I haven’t seen you guys at all. But we pulled this same shitty joke on Cartman a while back, and now it’s just getting super fucking old. I’m sure you guys have had your laughs already, so why can’t you all just cut it out?!”

  
“Stan, this isn’t a joke!” Kenny pleaded. “If Kyle isn’t dead, then why were you holed up in your room all this time?”

  
“I don’t know, and I don’t fucking care!” Stan’s fists were balled up at his side, as though he were ready to pound Kenny into the ground right then and there. “All I know is that I’ve _seen_ Kyle, and I’ve _talked_ to Kyle, and I wouldn’t be able to do that if he was dead!”

  
“But that doesn’t mean anything if the rest of us can’t—“

  
“Because you’re acting like he isn’t there!” Tears of frustration were beginning to well up in Stan’s eyes. “Because you all keep looking at me like I’m making all of this up! Every single one of you keep giving me that same damn look—like there’s something wrong with me and that I’m some fucking lunatic. Well, you know what? Fuck you, Kenny. Fuck you and everyone else in on this joke. How about you go fucking die, since you’re so adamant on convincing me that Kyle is dead?! Go fucking die, Kenny, and see how much I care!”

  
By then, tears were streaming down Stan’s face, and his nose was running profusely. He was sniffing furiously, trying to prevent his nose from running any further. His throat felt raw from all of his yelling.

  
Kenny had fallen eerily silent. Slowly, he shut his eyes, stood up straight, and fixed his backpack that had slipped off of one shoulder. “Trust me, Stan, I already know none of you care,” he stated bluntly. He slowly opened his eyes and shifted his gaze to the side, like he was staring off into somewhere Stan could never see nor understand. After a small silence, he turned around and began walking back in the direction of his house. “I’ll see you around, Stan. Say hi to Kyle for me.”

  
Stan silently watched him go, his cheeks growing increasingly cold as the wind blew onto his tears. He quickly wiped his face, shoved his hands into his pockets, and began to stagger down the sidewalk to the bus stop, the door to his house left wide open.

  
His mind felt fuzzy as he made his way down the familiar path. What had Kenny even wanted from him, exactly? To rub their little joke in his face some more? To convince him that Kyle wasn’t really there, so he could start ignoring Kyle, too?

  
Suddenly, it dawned on him. _That_ was why everyone was acting like this; Stan had been holed up in his room this whole time, which gave everyone the perfect opportunity to play a joke on Kyle. With Stan out of the picture, Kyle was truly isolated, the perfect victim for a cruel joke. They hadn’t counted on Stan coming out of his room, however, so they all acted like he was the only one who could see Kyle. They hoped that eventually, Stan would start to believe them and start ignoring Kyle too, so they could finally follow through with their joke. It was so unoriginal; they had done the same thing to Cartman, but the only difference was that that fatass had it coming to him. Kyle hadn’t done anything wrong. _Stan_ hadn’t done anything wrong.

  
…But… now that he thought about it… why had he been holed up in his room in the first place?

  
Stan’s train of thought was interrupted as he realized he was at the bus stop already. He examined the sign with dull eyes, and slowly turned to stare at the street. He wouldn’t give into them, he decided. There was no way he would ignore Kyle like the rest of them.

  
Now that he thought about it, where _was_ Kyle? He said he would meet Stan here.

  
Stan glanced around hastily, keeping an eye out for Kyle’s green hat. He recognized nothing except heaps of snow on the ground and the lonely street ahead of him.

  
His hands began to shake once again, and he anxiously began to rock back and forth on his heels. Kyle said he would be here, _promised_ that he would be here and that he would be careful. If that was the case, then where was he? What if he got hit by a car on the way over to his house, or what if someone shot him while he was running and drove away? What if he slipped on some ice and cracked his head open on the sidewalk? Stan shouldn’t have let him go alone, he should have ignored Kenny and ran after him, he should have followed Kyle and kept him safe, he should have gone with him, _he should have gone with him._

  
Stan’s gaze was intensely fixated on the ground in front of him, and his lips were pressed tightly together. The trembling had moved up to his arms. He thought he heard someone greet him—Jason, maybe?—but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the road to see who it was. What if Kyle never met back up with him? What if the bus finally came and Kyle still hadn’t shown up? What if—

  
“Stan!”

  
Stan suddenly whipped his head to the side, and relief washed over him as he spotted Kyle running towards him in the distance. Happy tears sprung in his eyes as abandoned his spot at the bus stop and sprinted towards Kyle with his arms outstretched. As the two met halfway, Stan caught Kyle and began spinning around, Kyle’s laugher ringing in his ears as he nuzzled into that soothing cotton scent.

  
“Sorry I took so long,” Kyle panted as they finally slowed to a halt. Stan lifted his face from his orange jacket, his eyes slightly bloodshot from all the crying he had done that morning. “I had to check every inch of my room to see if that fatass did something to it.”

  
“Did you find anything?” Stan sniffed lightly, swiping his mitten across his running nose.

  
Kyle frowned and shook his head. “Nah, dude. I dunno what happened last night, but everything was fine from what I saw.” He sounded slightly unconvinced.

  
Stan shrugged lightly. “Well, whatever. We can figure it out later.”

  
“…Yeah, okay.”

  
The two began to walk side-by-side back to the bus stop, their hands occasionally brushing each other teasingly. The other boy that had been standing at the bus stop with Stan noticed he was coming back and abruptly turned his back to him, studying a weed poking out of the ground like it was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen.

  
Stan paid him no attention; he didn’t even care enough to see who it was. All of his attention was on Kyle, from his bright brown eyes that sparkled in the light of the sun, to his snow boots that were slightly smudged with dirt. He decided not to tell Kyle about Kenny; if Kenny was going to insist that he was wrong about Kyle, then he didn’t want him sticking around anyway.

  
Stan glanced mischievously from Kyle to the back of the other boy’s head. “Hey, that kid isn’t looking,” he whispered, his eyes shining mischievously.

  
Kyle tilted his head to the side. “Huh?”

  
Snickering playfully, Stan let one hand rest on the side of Kyle’s face and kissed him lightly, their kiss lingering longer than usual. When Stan finally pulled away and he noticed how red Kyle’s cheeks were, he burst out laughing.

  
“Dude, you look like a fucking tomato,” he managed to say between laughs.

  
Kyle crossed his arms over his chest and turned away playfully. “Yeah, well, at least I don’t puke every time I get kissed.”

  
“Wha—aw, come on. I haven’t barfed on you.”

  
Kyle raised his eyebrows and glanced at Stan out of the corner of his eye. “… _Yet.”_

  
The bus arrived shortly after, and Stan and Kyle plopped themselves in their usual seat. The boy that had been with them at the bus stop had hastily jumped on as soon as the doors opened, eager to get away from Stan. He hadn’t noticed, however; as more and more kids piled onto the bus, Kyle’s hand snaked over to Stan’s, and he laced his fingers between Stan’s while keeping his eyes glued to the window. As the bus began to roll, he squeezed Stan’s hand, their fingers staying intertwined the entire ride to school.

  
The days progressed as such; Kyle slept over, the two would get up and go to school, spend the school day with each other, then go find something to do once they were dismissed for the day. The other children no longer stared worriedly at Stan, he noticed happily. In fact, they didn’t even glance in his direction anymore; he had been reduced to Kyle’s level, not even acknowledged anymore. He always sat with Kyle in that middle table in the cafeteria, no one else ever approaching him to ask if they could sit with him. He could always hear the other children whispering about him as he walked through the hallway with Kyle. _“That’s Stan,”_ they would say. _“He’s… well… y’know. Just don’t talk to him.”_ It slightly irked him at first, but the more he continued to be ignored, the more he was fine with it. Kyle never left his side, and he was thankful that no one had anything to say to him when they walked down the hall hand-in-hand. Not even Kenny said anything about it when Stan sometimes met his gaze and looked away quickly, or even Cartman, who continued to scowl at him every time they passed each other by.

  
Stan’s mother kept getting phone calls from Sheila, who sounded more and more frantic each time. Apparently the windows and doors were being left open on a regular basis now, although nothing valuable seemed to be out of place.

  
“I just don’t know what to do, Sharon!” Stan could always hear her irritating voice from across the room, despite his mother having the phone pressed against her ear. “If it were a thief, wouldn’t they have taken something by now?!”

  
“Maybe someone is just sleepwalking?” Sharon had suggested lightly.

  
Stan’s suspicion of Cartman never faltered; he was sure it was just that fatass sneaking around. He kept quiet about it to Kyle, however. If Kyle knew, then that meant he would leave Stan and go back home to check things out.

  
This small world that Stan had built around him and Kyle slowly continued to turn, each day just as consistent as the last. Had this been under some other kind of circumstances, Stan would have been bored out of his mind. He seemed to appreciate his time with Kyle, however, and was fine with how things were. Kyle was alive and with Stan, and that was all that mattered.

  
After a week had passed, however, his world had begun to collapse.

  
Stan had been sitting with Kyle at their usual cafeteria table, the two laughing together while Stan picked at his lunch. His appetite had begun to peter out once again, although he hadn’t seemed to notice too much; these days, his attention was always focused on Kyle. Their laugher was interrupted when Wendy slammed her hands right in between the two boys’ trays, their lunches jumping and crashing back onto the table.

  
“Wendy, what the hell?!” Stan exclaimed, leaning away from her slightly. The entire cafeteria had gone silent.

  
“I can’t take this anymore,” she snapped, her voice slightly quivering. She lifted her head to gaze at Stan, her dark eyes burning and her brows furrowed. “Stan, this isn’t okay.”

  
“…What isn’t okay?” He glanced quizzically at Kyle, who returned his confused look.

  
_“You,_ Stan.” Wendy slowly stood up straight, her fists balled up tightly at her side. “You need to talk to someone, or get help, or _something._ I can’t sit here and watch you do this anymore.”

  
Stan continued to gaze up at her, studying her intense eyes. Slowly, his creased eyebrows relaxed, and his lips pressed into a thin line. He rose from his seat and stood daringly in front of her, matching her ferocity with an intensity of his own. “Watch me do what?” he asked, his voice dangerously calm, like he was daring her to say what was on his mind.

  
Wendy, however, didn’t back down. “Watch you continue to talk to yourself, Stan! There’s _nothing_ sitting with you! Kyle isn’t sitting with you! We aren’t all playing some kind of joke on you! Kyle—“

  
“Kyle is _alive,_ Wendy,” Stan interrupted. He felt his anger beginning to boil, felt his fists tightening in frustration.

  
“Kyle is dead, Stan!” Wendy shouted, her voice echoing off of the walls of the cafeteria. “Kyle Broflovski died a month ago! He was hit by a car last January! I know how close you two were, but you need to move on, Stan! There are people you can talk to; _professionals_ who can help you get through things like this!”

  
…Huh?

  
Stan’s anger dissolved, suddenly being replaced with disbelief. _Huh? Huh? Huh?_ Wendy was saying that Kyle was dead? Wendy was saying that Kyle wasn’t sitting with him? Wendy was saying that he had never been talking to Kyle in the first place? He glanced back at where Kyle was sitting; his head was tilted to the side and forehead was creased with confusion.

  
“Stan?” he called out.

  
Slowly, Stan turned his head back to face Wendy. Her face was contorted and her eyes were shining hopefully, like she was pleading for him to believe her words. The only noise in the cafeteria was the low humming from the lights; everyone had their eyes on the two in the middle.

  
“Stan, let me help you,” Wendy said softly. She reached out and took his hand that hung loosely at his side. “I promise I’m not playing any tricks on you. Just let me help you, Stan.”

  
Stan stared blankly down at her hand. She was saying that the Kyle he had been seeing wasn’t real? That he never really had been with him this entire week? That he never really told Kyle how he felt? That he never really held Kyle’s hand or kissed him?

  
What was she… what was she even _saying?_

  
“…You take that back, Wendy,” Stan muttered through gritted teeth. Anger began to boil deep inside of him, and he clenched his fists tightly.

  
“What?” Wendy bent over and twisted her head in an attempt to see his face. “What did you say, Stan?”

  
“I said take it back, you stupid fucking bitch!” Stan shrieked, jerking his hand away from hers like her touch had burned him and shoving her to the ground. The children around him began to scream. As Wendy crashed onto the floor, Stan pinned her by her shoulders to the tile, shouting in her face as she shut her eyes and tried to turn away. “Kyle isn’t dead! He isn’t fucking dead! I won’t believe it! You’re a cruel, heartless bitch, Wendy! All of you keep trying to trick me! Why can’t you all just leave us alone?! Just fucking leave us alone!”

  
Just as he raised his shaking fist, he was suddenly shoved roughly off of Wendy. He collided onto the floor and rolled a couple of times, crashing into the legs of a table. The children around him shrieked and scrambled away, while Stan rolled over onto his back and gripped the shoulder that had crashed onto the floor, his face twisted in pain. Bebe kneeled protectively over Wendy, glaring furiously at Stan.

  
“You’re fucking crazy, Stan. Every one of us thinks so.” She turned her attention to Wendy, who had her arm covering her eyes. Only her quivering mouth and the tears trickling down her cheeks were left visible.

  
The bell suddenly rang, and everyone in the cafeteria jumped up and piled out the door. Stan continued to lie on the floor, staring blankly at the florescent ceiling lights. Bebe and Wendy must have left as well; when Stan turned his head to the right, they were both gone.

  
Suddenly, Stan saw a pair of knees beside him. “Stan?” He recognized that soft voice.

  
Slowly, he sat up. He stared at Kyle dazedly, his eyes half-lidded and his head leaning on his shoulder. Kyle stared back at him with pursed lips and furrowed brows.

  
Stan suddenly lurched forward and wrapped his arms around Kyle, burying his nose into his fleecy jacket. “I love you, Kyle,” he whimpered, tears flowing down his cheeks. “I love you so much. I won’t believe anything they say about you. I don’t want you to ever leave me.”

  
Surprised, Kyle tentatively began to stroke Stan’s back. He kissed the top of his head and began to rock him back and forth. “I know, Stan. I love you, too.”

  
They continued to sit for quite some time, Stan with his face hidden and Kyle stroking his back. He tried to focus on the soothing cotton scent of Kyle’s jacket, but Wendy’s words kept penetrating his thoughts. If what she said was true, then that would explain everyone’s odd behavior towards him… it would explain why Kenny had approached him that morning, and why everyone kept looking at him like they were worried.

  
He tightened his grip on Kyle. But this just felt so real, so _right._ He could see Kyle. He could talk to Kyle. He could touch Kyle. Did it really matter if no one else could?

  
The boys probably would have stayed until the end of the day, had it not been for the janitor jabbing Stan in the back with a broom and telling him to get a move on. Reluctantly, Stan had risen from the cafeteria floor, one of Kyle’s hands resting on his shoulder, and dragged his feet to the door. He absentmindedly retrieved his backpack from his locker and was pushed along by an obnoxiously persistent hall monitor back to Garrison’s classroom. He ignored the stares he got from his peers as he dragged his feet over to his desk. Wendy, he noticed, had her face pressed against her desk and her arms wrapped around her head.

  
“Well, well, looks like Stanley finally decided to join class,” Mr. Garrison remarked snidely. “Congratulations for making it thirty minutes after you were supposed to be back.”

  
Stan ignored him, dumping his backpack next to his seat and staring blankly at his desk. Kyle quietly sat beside him, his head resting on his palm. He could hear some of his classmates whispering about him. He continued to stare blankly at his desk, however; he didn’t have enough energy to lash out at anyone again.

  
When school was finally over, Stan’s peers shoved past him and piled out of the classroom. He caught a few dirty glances thrown his way, but simply ignored them as Kyle reassuringly led him out. He let Kyle take the lead, squeezing the redhead’s hand tightly, his only desire to go home and sleep off the rest of this energy-draining day.

  
“Oh, shit,” Kyle suddenly halted in his tracks as the two were finally outside. He glanced back at Stan apologetically. “Sorry, I forgot something in my locker. Wait right here, okay? I’ll be back in a minute.”

  
Stan stared at him long and hard. He felt his heart begin to thud in his chest, although didn’t have the energy to object. Kyle already knew his worries, judging by his reassuring smile and creased eyebrows. He quickly pecked him on the lips and whispered, “Be right back,” as he slipped past him and back into the school.

  
Stan staggered over to the side of the building and leaned his back against the cold, yellow bricks. He shut his eyes, listening to the chatter and screams of excited children that had finally gotten out of school for the day. A sudden wind swept through the schoolyard, chilling Stan to the bone. He had forgotten that he left his jacket unbuttoned, and the wind had whipped straight through his wrinkled white t-shirt. He had stopped caring about his appearance a long time ago, didn’t even bother buttoning up his jacket or tying his boots particularly tight anymore.

  
Suddenly, Stan was yanked by the collar of his shirt and was dragged around the corner of the school. His breath was knocked out of him as he was roughly slammed into a wall. He cracked open his eyes to see Cartman’s pudgy face, his teeth gritted and his fist tightly gripping his shirt.

  
“Oh. Hey, Cartman,” Stan greeted casually after taking in a new breath. His hands hung limply down at his side and he studied his friend’s face with half-lidded eyes. In complete contrast to Stan, Cartman angrily smashed Stan into the wall again, said boy choking as his breath was knocked out of him once again.

  
“Don’t you ‘hey, Cartman’ me, you asshole.” Stan coughed loudly, feeling Cartman’s knuckles pressing against his throat. The back of his head was beginning to throb. “What the fuck is wrong with you, man?”

  
“What the fuck is wrong with you all?” Stan choked out. He gripped Cartman’s wrist and pulled his fist off of his throat, allowing him to breathe slightly better. “Don’t you think this joke has gone on far enough?”

  
“Goddammit, Stan, nobody is joking! Nobody was ever fucking joking!”

  
“Yeah, whatever.” Stan rolled his eyes, his unblinking gaze staying focused on Cartman’s face. “Like I’d actually believe anything you say. You know how I know you guys are joking? Because this entire time, you’ve been acting like you _actually_ care. You’re always such a little shit to Kyle, and if he really were dead, you know you’d be so fucking happy. Don’t try to act like you all of a sudden care about him, fatass.” Without thinking, Stan sucked in his cheeks and spat on Cartman’s face.

  
Cartman froze; his wide eyes stayed locked onto Stan’s chin as the saliva began to trickle down his cheek. “Mother _fucker,”_ he hissed under his breath, bringing his knee up and slamming it into Stan’s stomach. Just as Stan began to cough, he was spun around and thrown towards the opposite wall, landing on the numerous, full trash bags that huddled together.

  
“Fuck you, Stan! You don’t fucking know anything about me!” Cartman stomped towards Stan, who had rolled off of the trash bags and was groveling in the snow. “You know what? I thought the _same thing_ you did, Stan. I thought that if Kyle died or went away somewhere, I’d be so happy. I thought I’d be so happy that I’d throw parties for days. Fucking _days,_ Stan. But now it really happened, and I…” His voice slightly faltered. He swallowed roughly and took in a breath. “…Man, I don’t know. Nothing feels right anymore, and nothing will ever feel the same again. It’s like that little bastard took everything and ran away with it in his little Jew hands.”

  
Stan had finally pushed himself up from the ground, his stomach aching and the back of his head pounding. He stared dazedly at Cartman, whose gaze was fixated on the concrete beneath him. He couldn’t remember a time when Cartman had sounded so sincere, _ever._ From the first time he had met him in preschool to their current time in the fourth grade, Cartman had always been a scheming, dishonest little brat.

  
And now, here he was in front of Stan, spilling out his feelings and sounding _honest_ about it?

  
For a second, he believed it. He almost wanted to burst out crying right then and there, apologize to Cartman, apologize to Wendy, apologize to everyone as his heart broke for a second time. A voice in the back of his head, however, made him reclaim his hard glare and cold composure.

  
Cartman is a liar.

  
Cartman lies.

  
Cartman is lying.

  
He is _lying._

  
“Pshh… yeah, whatever,” Stan scoffed, a smirk flying over his face. “How long did it take you to make that up?”

  
Cartman picked up his gaze from the concrete, his eyes locking onto Stan. He drew his lips into a thin line and slowly shook his head. “You’re fucked, Stan. You can’t get help from anyone.”

  
“Yeah? Who’s to say I need help in the first place?” Stan pushed himself up from the snow and unsteadily made his way over to Cartman, standing as equally tall as him. “I’d say you guys are the ones that are fucked up. Going on and on with this little joke just to torture me… what kind of fucked up people would do that?” He jabbed Cartman roughly on his shoulder with his finger. “And really? Sneaking into Kyle’s house every night and messing with his family? That’s fucking stupid, Cartman, and you know it.”

  
“What?!” Cartman stared in bewilderment. “What the hell are you talking about?! I haven’t sneaking into Kyle’s house!”

  
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Of course you’d say that. By the way, there’s no way in hell I’m fixing that little ‘memorial’ those asswipes made for Kyle. Kyle and I both took it down, because he isn’t dead.” Cartman’s jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed, drilling his gaze into Stan’s pale blue irises just a ferociously as Stan himself was. “What are you gonna do about that, huh? Are you gonna cook my parents into chili and make me eat them? Do it, Cartman. I fucking _dare you.”_

  
“Stan, that’s enough.” A lone voice drifted from the open gate. Stan tore his gaze away from Cartman and spotted Wendy, her hand resting on the gate door.

  
“…What do you want, Wendy?” Stan took a step back from Cartman, who had roughly wiped his cheek with his sleeve.

  
“Nothing really,” she answered calmly. She walked over to the two boys, her boots clacking on the concrete, and held out a hand to Stan. “Walk with me?”

  
“You’re wasting your time, Wendy,” Cartman snapped. “Stan isn’t going to li—“

  
“I’m sorry, Stan,” Wendy interrupted quickly. She cast one look at Cartman before shifting her gaze to Stan. Stan stared back at her dumbfounded. “I’m sorry for playing this joke on you. I won’t do it anymore.”

  
A sudden wave of relief washed over Stan. She apologized to him… she admitted they were all playing a joke on him and Kyle…!

  
“Are you for real?” A wide grin spread across Stan’s face, and he grabbed Wendy tightly by the shoulders. “Are you being serious?!”

  
With her eyebrows furrowed and her lips pursed, Wendy slowly nodded her head. Stan threw his arms in the air and twirled in a circle, laughing as though he had just heard the best news of his life. “See?! I told you, Cartman, I fucking _told you.”_

  
He expected Cartman to groan and pitch a fit, like he always did when his plans didn’t work, but he only stared confusedly at Wendy with his mouth slightly open. Wendy, however, ignored him and continued to watch Stan.

  
“Come walk with me, Stan,” she offered once again, extending her hand out to him.

  
“Ah—yeah, sure. Whatever.” Stan regained his composer and smoothed out his horrendously wrinkled shirt, staggering over to her while sneering at Cartman. “I was waiting for Kyle, though.”

  
“That’s fine.” Wendy spun on her heel, her long, black hair whipping around with her. She began walking back around to the front of the school, never once meeting Stan’s gaze.

  
Stan smirked one last time at Cartman, who had his eyes directed at the ground and his fists clenched, before stumbling after Wendy. She stood waiting where he had been before being snatched away by Cartman, leaning up against the school with her eyes closed.

  
Almost too conveniently, Kyle emerged from the school, scanning the yard for Stan. When their eyes met, he scampered over to him. “Hey, dude,” he greeted warmly. “I’m back.”

  
Stan was so excited that he couldn’t keep himself from bouncing up and down. “Dude, dude, Wendy just told me that we were right! Everyone was really just dicking with us! She apologized to me, dude!”

  
“Whoa. For real?” Kyle spotted Wendy leaning up against the school, staring at her in disbelief.

  
“Yeah! Tell him, Wendy!” Stan whipped his head to the side, motioning to Kyle in front of him.

  
Wendy was silent for a few moments. She slowly opened her eyes and studied Kyle for a long while, until she finally sighed softly. “I’m sorry, Kyle,” she stated. Stan found it odd that she was staring at one of his shoulders. “It was cruel of all of us to joke around like that. I’m really sorry.”

  
“See?” Stan bounced excitedly. “I bet you were totally convinced that they were being serious, huh?”

  
“What? No way!” Kyle objected playfully. “How could I when I’m standing right here?”

  
“…Oh, right.” The two boys stared momentarily at each other before bursting into laughter.

  
Wendy suddenly pushed herself off of the wall and stood next to Stan. “Um, Kyle,” she started carefully, as if she were walking on glass. “I wanted to walk with Stan a little bit. By myself.”

  
“…Oh.” Kyle glanced confusedly up at Stan, who shrugged in reply. “That’s cool, I guess.” He rested his hand on Stan’s shoulder, giving him a gentle smile. “I’ll be waiting for you at your house, okay? Good luck, dude.” His hand slowly slipped off of Stan’s shoulder, lingering a little longer than it probably should have. He then repositioned his backpack on his back, and started walking down the path to the sidewalk. Stan watched his green hat bob in the distance until he had disappeared out of his view.

  
“So?” Stan finally turned his attention back to Wendy. “What did you want?”

  
Wendy reached for Stan’s hand, fitting her fingers between his and squeezing tightly. “Come on, Stan,” she said as she began leading him down the path to the sidewalk. “Let’s walk.”

  
They walked in silence for a while, passing by speeding cars and quiet buildings. A faint snowfall had begun to drift from the gray sky. Neither spoke a word; Wendy kept her steady gaze in front of her with an iron grip on Stan’s hand. He tried sliding his hand out of her grip, but that only made her squeeze harder.

  
“Uh… where are we going?” Stan finally asked. He glanced around the area; they had just passed the movie theater without a single reaction out of Wendy.

  
“Nowhere,” Wendy answered simply. She kept her gaze forward. “Do you need to be somewhere?”

  
Stan frowned. “I mean… I want to go back with Kyle, if that’s what you mean.” Wendy didn’t answer; she only pressed her lips together tightly and continued on. She was slightly ahead of Stan, almost as if she were leading him instead of taking a walk with him. There was something strong about her appearance, he couldn’t help noticing; she held her head high as she continued to stride down the sidewalk, her eyes staring coldly ahead as a breeze swept her long black hair off of her back. Stan always liked that about her.

  
Stan shivered as the snow began to settle on his shoulders like a fine powder. The wind was whipping through his shirt like it was nothing, blowing the flaps of his open jacket backwards. Wendy suddenly stopped in her tracks, turned around, and began silently buttoning up his jacket, just like she had done that first day he had come out of his room. Stan wordlessly studied her face; her eyes were cold and distant, like her mind was somewhere her body was not. After finishing the last button, she dusted the snow off of Stan’s shoulders, snatched his hand back up, and continued to lead him forward. Her boots crunched in the thin layer of snow that had begun to settle on the sidewalk.

  
“Thanks,” Stan said softly, staggering after her once more. She only hummed a reply.

  
His head was throbbing by now; each car that passed was just a colored blur, each building just a muddied mass of dull gray. The only thing Stan was able to make out was Wendy’s striding figure in front of him and her long hair that rode the gentle breezes.

  
A silence had fallen over them again. Stan shifted in Wendy’s grip uncomfortably. She didn’t seem to mind.

  
“Man, y’know, you have no idea how happy I am, Wendy,” Stan slurred, blurting out whatever first came to mind. Wendy only grunted in reply. “I’m so glad you guys were all just playing a joke on us. With the way everyone was acting, even I started to doubt myself. Like, Cartman sounded… totally sincere when he said that he wasn’t happy.”

  
“Oh, really?” Wendy replied. Her voice sounded distant. The city now loomed behind them, and they had begun to pass multicolored houses.

  
Stan didn’t seem to notice. “Yeah. It’s crazy.” He rubbed one of his eyes in attempt to clear his fuzzy vision. “But I’m so happy, Wendy. This week has been one of the best in my life. Kyle and I have gotten a lot closer, and I finally got to tell him how I feel.”

  
“How you… feel?” Wendy echoed, her pitch slightly rising like she had been pulled back down to Earth with that one sentence. She glanced back at Stan confusedly, but continued to walk forward.

  
“Yeah.” Stan closed his eyes and leaned his head to one side. “I’m so in love with him, Wendy. I can’t remember how long I have been, but I really do. So I finally told him, and you know what? He feels the same way!”

  
He didn’t know what he was saying anymore; his mouth was like a sewer, spewing out whatever garbage his mind managed to gush out. “I was really scared that he would just stop talking to me if I ever told him, so that’s why I’ve kept it to myself for so long. I’m so glad it all worked out, and I’m so glad everyone has been ignoring us and not giving us any shit about it. It’s weird, though; I’ve been walking down the halls with Kyle and holding hands and everything, but not even Kenny or Cartman reacted. I know you guys were just joking, but it’s weird that you guys didn’t break character even for that, like you didn’t even see us at all.”

  
By then, Wendy’s grip had gotten so tight that his hand was starting to hurt. Stan didn’t protest, however. His eyes were still closed and a smile had graced his face, like he was reminiscing about his past week with Kyle. Wendy hadn’t said a word.

  
“It’s really funny when Kyle blushes, because his entire face turns red,” Stan continued to blabber mindlessly. “I think it’s kind of cute, but I also think it embarrasses him ‘cause his face gets even redder when I point it out. And, y’know, I haven’t puked on him at all, even when we kiss. That’s good, right? I think so.” Stan opened his eyes and gazed dreamily up at the gray sky. “I can’t wait for everyone to stop ignoring us, so we can go back to the way things were. I want to go places with Kyle. I want to go to school with him, and get into crazy shit with him and Cartman and Kenny again, and see him every day. I can’t wait to go back home and see him. I love him so much, Wen—“

  
“Stan.” Wendy’s cracking voice interrupted him. They had stopped walking, he noticed. He glanced behind him and saw the many multicolored houses in the distance.

  
“…Why are we over here?” he asked, glancing over at Wendy quizzically. Her bottom lip was trembling and her eyes were fixated on the ground in front of her. “Stan, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, a single tear sliding down her cheek.

  
Stan was confused at first. What, she was sorry about him liking Kyle? That didn’t have anything to do with her...

  
Before he could open his mouth and ask what was wrong, his eyes traveled down to whatever she was so intently fixated on. In front of him lied a lone tombstone, dusted faintly with fallen snow. Stan recognized the Star of David on the top, followed by Hebrew. In the very center were bold words carved out in the stone:

  
**“Kyle Broflovski**  
**Beloved Son”**

  
“I’m so sorry, Stan,” Wendy whimpered through her tears. She had let go of Stan’s hand and was now wiping her tear-streaked cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for lying to you, a-and I’m sorry that this has happened. I… I had no idea that you felt that way about him.”

  
Stan only continued to stand still, his eyes glued to the tombstone in front of him with his lips slightly parted. His eyes traced every letter engraved into the stone, as if they would magically rearrange themselves into some name that Stan had no connection to. Over and over again, he read the name of his best friend on the stone, until his vision became blurry with tears and he subconsciously dropped to his knees.

  
“Stan…” Wendy said in a hushed voice. He felt her hands on his shoulders. “Stan, listen to me…” Her voice became muddied out by his sudden rush of thoughts. His mind automatically jumped back to its default response: get mad, scream, and don’t believe _anything_  anyone tries to tell you. But as he reached out and traced the stone’s letters with a wet finger, as the evidence was staring itself right in his face, he couldn’t convince himself that they were playing a joke anymore.

  
Suddenly, it all clicked.

  
There was no way they could have put all of this together.

  
There was no way Wendy would have taken a joke this far.

  
Kenny really had been just worried about his mental health.

  
Cartman really was miserable, enough to where he could barely eat two bites of his food.

  
Everyone had been avoiding him because he had been talking to “Kyle.”

  
And Kyle… had been here, buried four feet underground this whole time…?

  
Did that mean Stan hadn’t spent this week with Kyle…? That he never told him how he felt? That they didn’t really walk down the hall hand-in-hand? That he never really fell asleep listening to the sound of his beating heart? That they never kissed? That Kyle’s face never burned that deep shade of red?

  
If that were the case… then that meant Stan had never been with Kyle after all.

  
“Stan? Are you hearing me?” Wendy choked through her sobs. Her voice had shaken him from his thoughts. Slowly, he began to stand, staring owlishly into her bloodshot eyes. “There are healthy ways you can learn to move on, and staying shut up in your room isn’t one… we can—“

  
“I need to go find Kyle.”

  
“…What?”

  
“I need to go find Kyle.” As if in a daze, Stan unblinkingly pushed Wendy’s hands off of his shoulders and began to stumble down the road. His head was pounding by now, sending pulses of pain down his neck.

  
“Stan!” He heard Wendy screaming from behind him. “Stan, stop it!” He glanced behind him, expecting to see Wendy running towards him, but was instead met with an approaching flurry of vehicles, all speeding towards him. Without thinking, he flung himself to the other side of the road and rolled to safety, just as the cars honked and zoomed past him.

  
Why couldn’t Kyle have been that lucky?

  
“Stan!” Stan ignored Wendy’s screaming, pushed himself up from the ground, and began to stumble through the snow. He broke into a sloppy sprint as a newfound energy sprang up inside of him. He viewed his surroundings through the blur of his tears.

  
He ran past the basketball court, where he could see Kyle trying to get past Cartman, a basketball held firmly between his hands, while his own self stood off to the side, ready to receive the ball.

  
He ran past Clyde’s house, where he could see himself and Kyle, dressed as the High Elf King, rushed inside with the entire population of children behind them in attempt to get back the Stick of Truth.

  
He ran past the bus stop, where he could see himself and Kyle standing next to each other, a bright smile painted across Kyle’s face as Stan talked about something.

  
He was with Kyle.

  
He was _always_ with Kyle.

  
He didn’t want to be separated from Kyle.

  
“KYLE!” Stan screamed as he ran sluggishly down the sidewalk, his hands cupped over his mouth as he called out for his best friend. “KYLE!”

  
There was no green hat that conveniently poked out from behind a nearby tree. There was no high-pitched returned call. There were no smudged brown snow boots running towards him just as fast as he was. There was no fleecy orange jacket or bright brown eyes waiting for him in the distance.

  
All Stan was met with was the echo of his own voice and the soft blanket of falling snow.

  
He turned left sharply as he reached his own house, throwing the door open and stumbling up the stairs. His door cracked open, and the light was on in his room… maybe…!

  
“Kyle!” Stan shouted as he thrust his door fully open. Instead of being met with a familiar green hat and a reassuring smile, Stan’s mother turned around slowly. In her hands was one of Kyle’s pajama shirts, the navy blue one with Terrence and Phillip on it.

  
“Stan…” She stared at her son unblinkingly. “Stan, what are these?”

  
Stan couldn’t answer at first. He only stared back at her blankly. “I… I don’t…” he tried choking out before slowly trailing off. He drew his attention to his feet, wet and cold from wading through the snow…

  
“Stan, did you know the Broflovskis have been having problems with someone breaking in?” Sharon started, her tone grave. “The kitchen window and front door have been found open every morning for two weeks. It didn’t seem like anything was being taken at first, but then Ike said something about Kyle’s toothbrush disappearing.” She talked slowly, unblinkingly, while Stan continued staring at his wet boots. “Then his clothes began disappearing. Mrs. Broflovski checked Kyle’s dresser and… there’s nothing left in there, Stanley. They finally set up cameras to see what was going on, a-and…”

  
Her voice suddenly cracked, and her grip on Kyle’s shirt tightened. “Oh, Stan, why did you do it?” She let the shirt fall to the floor, picked up one of Stan’s pillows, and shook it upside down. Various articles of Kyle’s clothes slipped out of the pillowcase and joined the abandoned pajama shirt on the floor. “Why do you have these…?”

  
“T-they’re Kyle’s…” Stan blurted out as he watched the clothes pile up into one massive heap. “They’re Kyle’s…”

  
“Oh, Stanley!” Sharon threw her arms out and wrapped them around her son, squeezing him until he couldn’t breathe. She sobbed into his shoulder. “I knew we should have taken you to see a therapist. I knew we should have…!”

  
Slowly, Sharon retracted her arms and stood up straight. She led Stan over to his bed and stepped away tentatively towards the door. “Just stay right here, Stanley, okay? Don’t move… Mommy will be right back.” She shut the door gently. Stan could hear her shouting for his father down the hall.

  
Stan sat down on his bed. He stared at the heap of Kyle’s clothes on his floor. He absentmindedly picked out the pajama shirt his mother had been previously holding and examined it blankly. So Cartman really hadn’t been breaking into Kyle’s house all along… he really _had_ been telling the truth, for once.

  
It had been Stan. It had always been Stan.

  
He bunched up the shirt and pressed his face against it, taking in one long, deep breath. It smelled like comfort, like tenderness and serenity.

  
It smelled like home. It smelled like Kyle.

  
Stan heard the creak of his door slowly being opened. He pulled his face away from the shirt and stared absently in front of him. A familiar green hat had poked out from behind the door, and was soon joined by a familiar face and bright, unblinking brown eyes.

  
“Hey, Stan!” Kyle called out, letting the door open fully. He extended his hand. “Come here! I wanna show you something!” He stared owlishly at Stan, his gaze empty and unfamiliar, like everything the two had been through in the past two weeks had been erased.

  
Stan examined Kyle’s figure with half-lidded eyes. As if in a trance, he slowly stood up from his bed and began making his way towards Kyle, his feet dragging against the carpet. He lethargically followed Kyle’s bouncing figure as he made his way through the hallway and down the stairs.

  
He knew, in all of his heart, that the Kyle he knew and loved wasn’t coming back. He knew that Kyle had left him a long time ago. The Kyle he was trailing behind wasn’t _his_ Kyle, just someone who looked like him; just someone who said the things Stan wanted him to, who tried filling the empty hole in Stan’s heart.

  
Nevertheless, Stan continued to follow him absentmindedly through the living room and out the back door as the evening sun bathed his figure in a heavenly light. The snow had stopped.

  
“Stan, Stan, come on! I wanna show you something!” Kyle sang, bouncing over to the tall ladder that was leaned up against the side of the house. He began to climb the ladder, calling over his shoulder excitedly, “C’mon, Stan!”

  
Stan stared blankly ahead as he slowly followed Kyle. Each lifting of his leg required a tremendous amount of energy; by the time Stan was halfway up the ladder, Kyle had already climbed on top of the roof and disappeared.

  
Eventually, Stan was able to reach the top and pull himself onto the roof. He scanned the area; Kyle was nowhere in sight.

  
Letting his feet take over, he began to make his way unsteadily up the roof. The warm, sinking sun in the distance was almost calling to him, reaching out its hand to him and promising him a new, fresh day tomorrow. He continued stumbling forward until there was no more roof to walk on; his boots had reached the edge of the peak.

  
“Staaaan!” a familiar voice called from below. Stan looked down in the direction of the voice and spotted Kyle standing in the middle of the concrete path leading up to his house, his arms outstretched. “Jump down, Stan! I’ll catch you!”

  
It was a long, long way down…

  
Stan picked up his gaze and studied the town laid out in front of him, bathed in the light of the setting sun. Stan and Kyle had shared so many memories here, so many experiences. They had walked to the bus stop together here, had gone to school together here, and saved this town and the world more times than he cared to count. They had sat on this very rooftop and watched the stars together, they had swum in Stark’s Pond together, and they had experienced so much growth and change in each other. They had gone through so much together in this little mountain town…

  
But now Kyle was gone. The memories the two shared lingered throughout the town, slowly growing stale as time passed by. No longer could Stan stand at the bus stop with Kyle. No longer could they get into trouble, or save the world, or gaze at the stars on the roof. They could never graduate together, like they always wanted, or ever leave this quiet little mountain town together when they were old enough. Stan could never tell Kyle how he truly felt about him. He could never know if Kyle felt the same way.

  
The trees that littered the neighborhood swayed in the wind, as if welcoming him to a new chapter in his life. He could get help like Wendy said and move on with his life while Kyle rotted underground.

  
It was like he was lying on the ground, his life at a standstill. There were people standing in front of him and waiting for him, people he could apologize to, people he could join and move forward with. He could pick himself up from the ground and join them as they walked forward, leaving Kyle behind, alone.

  
Stan didn’t want to move forward.

  
“Staaan!” Kyle called down to him again.

  
_I’m coming, Kyle._ He stepped over the edge of the roof. _I’m on my way._

  
And he fell.

  
It all advanced towards him in slow motion. The wind glided through his greasy locks, lifting them into the air. His loose, wrinkled clothes flapped against his body. He fluttered his eyes shut and let his body go limp, his arms flapping uselessly at his sides while he cascaded through the air.

  
Maybe he should have at least apologized to Wendy. She had tried her best to help him. She always had her hand extended out to him, ready to take his hand and help pick him up from the ground, even though everyone else had already given up on him. She deserved better than what he was giving her.

  
She always deserved better than what he could ever offer her.

  
Maybe he should have apologized to Kenny, too, for yelling at him when he was only looking out for him. Maybe he should have apologized to Cartman as well, because for the first time in his life, he was actually telling the truth, and all Stan did was scoff at him. Maybe he should even apologize to Clyde for lying to him about his mittens; they had been squashed in between the couch cushions for God knows how long.

  
Maybe he should apologize to Kyle for giving up his life to see him again.

  
A sharp pain penetrated the back of Stan’s head, but it soon ebbed away. He felt a pair of arms wrap around him, holding him tightly. Stan recognized that soft, cotton scent, and buried his nose into that familiar fleecy orange jacket. There was a certain genuineness to his touch, one that “Kyle” couldn’t ever dream of matching.

  
Stan nuzzled deeper into the jacket, his eyes still shut, while the sidewalk became soaked in red and a scream that sounded identical to his mother’s echoed in the distance. A soft, familiar voice, one that sounded like home, whispered in his ear.

  
“I missed you, Stan.”


End file.
